


180 seconds

by shier



Series: heist au [1]
Category: iKON (Kpop)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, PWP, chanhwan pothole warning, or blowjob without plot???, yeah that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:59:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9558524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shier/pseuds/shier
Summary: “Three minutes,” Chanwoo murmurs against his lips, abandoning his drink next to a bottle of cleaner on the shelf. And then he has both hands on Jinhwan’s hips, gripping hard enough that Jinhwan can almost feel the pinpoints of heat from the tips of his fingers.





	

“ _Did anyone mention when this auction’s supposed to start?_ ” Jinhwan hears Bobby ask over the comms, with that familiar lilt of bored-out-of-his-mind in his voice.

“Yeah,” Jinhwan answers, taking a sip of his drink as he surveys the completely full room, “19 hundred hours.”

“ _And we're here at… 5 p.m.,_ why _?_ ”

“ _If you’d listened during the meeting_ ,” Junhoe cuts in, “ _you’d know there's this pesky thing called recon we're supposed to be doing_ —”

“— _I wonder why I wasn’t paying attention to the meeting?_ ”

“ _Both of you are disgusting_ ,” Yunhyeong pipes up. Jinhwan glances up to see him tilted away from the group he’s currently fraternising with, pretending to fix the cuff of his sleeve and risking exposure just to shit on Junhoe and Bobby’s over-the-top flirting. Business as usual.

“ _Disgusting?_ ” Junhoe echoes, the practised mock hurt bleeding so freely from his tone that Jinhwan can almost see the draw of his sharp eyebrows, the way his features screw like he's about to start a yelling match. “ _How_ dare _you call something_ —”

“ _Hyung?_ ” Chanwoo chimes in. “Jinhwan _-hyung. Can you meet me in corridor B? I think something’s wrong with the cameras here._ ” Jinhwan glances around the room; he sees Yunhyeong at the table, socialising with the distinguished guests, and Donghyuk and Hanbin not far off, milling around next to the tower of champagne in the middle of the room. Junhoe’s nearer to the wall, surveying the items on display with his hands in his pockets, looking very much like he already owns them. Bobby’s a little harder to find, but Jinhwan spots him closer to the door, holding onto the extensive catalogue of items going up on auction, although he's not studying the glossy pages as much as he's studying Junhoe.

Chanwoo’s nowhere to be found.

“ _You're closer to me than Bin-hyung i_ s,” Chanwoo adds, as if he can read Jinhwan’s mind. “ _And he's busy, um_ —”

“ _Champaaaaagne_ ,” Hanbin whispers loudly into the mic.

“ _That. Corridor B_ ,” Chanwoo repeats again and Jinhwan sighs, downing the rest of his drink to get up. It's crowded enough that no one notices him, and he's blending in well enough that he goes largely unseen by the security guards when he wanders off into corridor B. Bobby and Hanbin are always telling him it’s because he's short—out of sight, out of mind. But really, blending in is an art form that neither of them have managed to grasp. It's a delicate combination of attire and demeanour, of—

He catches sight of Chanwoo, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other holding onto a tall flute of something Jinhwan can't identify, looking impossibly handsome as he sips his drink. His entire train of thought derails. Shit.

Jinhwan sucks in a deep breath as he approaches him, thinking, not for the first time, how much more mission-ready and efficient he would be if he didn’t have this complicated weight in his chest that comes with Jung Chanwoo. But Chanwoo spots him and—clearly having none of that criss-cross of conflicting feelings—grins, eyes lighting up and cheeks dimpling as he gives Jinhwan a onceover that may constitute as illegal in some parts of the country.

“Cameras?” Jinhwan asks immediately, figuring it best not to leave room for small talk. Distractions were a compromise, and the point of doing recon was to make sure no one blew up later.

“Yeah,” Chanwoo says, coming closer and closer and closer until he's a solid wall right in front of Jinhwan’s nose. “Right at the end of this entrance, that door, and the stairwell over there, all dead.”

“What is—” but Jinhwan doesn’t manage to get the rest of his words out, because Chanwoo’s cupping the back of his head and bending over to kiss him. For every step forward Chanwoo takes, Jinhwan takes one back, like they’re caught in some kind of weird two-step waltz. And Jinhwan wants to break the kiss, he _should_ , but they’ve been so busy on this job—with finding an “in” to the auction and then finding an “in” to the items up for auction—that he’s barely had time to _breathe_ , and Chanwoo’s mouth is sweet from the sugary cocktail he'd been drinking and he's so warm and solid under the flat of Jinhwan’s palm that before he knows it, they’re standing in the middle of a fancy hotel’s equivalent of a broom closet.

“Three minutes,” Chanwoo murmurs against his lips, abandoning his drink next to a bottle of cleaner on the shelf. And then he has both hands on Jinhwan’s hips, gripping hard enough that Jinhwan can almost feel the pinpoints of heat from the tips of his fingers.

“We don't _have_ three minutes,” Jinhwan points out, although he's already breathy from the kissing. Damnit. “The cameras—”

“My handiwork,” Chanwoo says, reaching up to Jinhwan’s earpiece to turn it off. Then he draws back enough to be illuminated by the thin slats of light streaming in through the door, so Jinhwan can see the twinkle in his eye and think to himself _oh god_. “Proud?”

“What the hell has Hanbin been teaching you?” Jinhwan questions, cupping the side of Chanwoo’s neck to drag him in for another kiss.

“The good stuff,” Chanwoo answers, muffled, his hand straying lower and lower and lower until he has it curved around Jinhwan’s ass. “You look good tonight, hyung.” Jinhwan breaks the kiss then, glancing up at Chanwoo to find him with his mouth hanging slightly open, like he has something else to add but doesn’t know if he should. Silence falls between them because Jinhwan doesn’t know what to say either—his usual plays of flirtation seem out of place when Chanwoo is being so impossibly sincere—but then Chanwoo’s gets the ball rolling by pressing up against him again, mouth dragging heatedly to Jinhwan’s ears, to his neck, pressing kisses down across clothed skin until he's on his knees.

“You're _kidding_ me,” Jinhwan says, although he does nothing to stop Chanwoo from unzipping his pants, except to steady himself with a hand in Chanwoo’s hair. “Your emergency is that you want to—” Jinhwan pauses, head tipping back as he watches Chanwoo’s palm curve easily around his thigh, thumb kneading against the inner seam of his leg. It's mesmerising, how easy it is for him to secure Jinhwan in place, to trap him.

“Suck you off?” Chanwoo asks, in that same teasing tone he uses when Jinhwan can't reach something on the top shelf. “Yeah. It's unfair that you look _this_ good and I can't touch you.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Junhoe,” Jinhwan complains, but it's half-hearted at best when Chanwoo’s pressing open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin next to the band of his underwear. His breath hitches—Chanwoo’s mouth is impossibly hot in the cool room and he feels himself hardening from the illicitness of the situation at hand. Which is ridiculous, because Jinhwan _steals_ for a living. His entire existence is _illicit_.

But then Chanwoo reaches for his cock, large hand curling over Jinhwan’s half-hard length to rub slow circles against the underside with his thumb as he keeps _kissing Jinhwan_ and Jinhwan doesn’t bother pursuing that line of thought. Clearly, logic has no place when it comes to Jung Chanwoo, especially not when Chanwoo looks up at him with the lust-filled version of puppy eyes, with a hint of uncertainty, like Jinhwan might call this off at any moment, like he’s still not sure if Jinhwan wants any of this at all. And in Chanwoo’s uncertainty, Jinhwan finds his footing and breathes out a quiet, “ _Chanwoo_ ,” fingers curling loosely in his soft hair.

“Present,” Chanwoo says. There’s a tremor of something too-serious in his tone that a) shouldn’t be present, given that he’s about to blow Jinhwan in a fully carpeted broom closet, and b) that Jinhwan’s too thrown off to dissect, when Chanwoo’s mouth closes around the head of his cock, his hand twisting in slow circles around the base of it. But he doesn’t tease, like he usually does, doesn’t look up at Jinhwan like he’s making a joke that he expects Jinhwan to understand. Instead, he sinks his mouth all the way down, lips touching the base of Jinhwan’s length, and _stops_ there. The sight of Chanwoo with his eyes closed, with the outline of Jinhwan’s cock jutting out from his cheek makes Jinhwan drop his head against the wall and moan, the sound echoing in the small space.

_Breathe_ , he tells himself, as Chanwoo hollows his cheeks and pulls back almost entirely, leaving Jinhwan’s cock slick with spit and then starts bobbing his head enthusiastically, _can’t finish the job if you die in this closet_. Aloud, he groans a quiet, “Chan _woo_ ,” and Chanwoo hums around his dick, pleased, like he isn’t trying to give Jinhwan an aneurysm at twenty-six.

It’s clear that he’s not planning to slow down anytime soon because this isn’t the usual push-pull dance that Jinhwan’s familiar with when it comes to Chanwoo—it’s all push, and Jinhwan feels like he’s standing on the edge of a fucking cliff. All he can do is grip onto Chanwoo’s hair as though that might help keep him rooted, might stop his knees from turning into jelly, might stop him from panting like all the air’s getting sucked out of the room. But the second he falters, the second his legs buckle under him, Chanwoo’s there to steady him against the wall, drawing back far enough for an infinitesimal second to meet Jinhwan’s eyes. Maybe Jinhwan knows what the joke is after all, maybe he’s beginning to understand what it’s supposed to be. Or maybe his impending orgasm is fucking with his sense of cognition, because his entire world narrows down to the sight of Chanwoo’s lips stretched around his girth as he pulls all the way back, sucking almost idly on the head of Jinhwan’s cock as he jerks Jinhwan off like he knows Jinhwan’s about to come.

“Please,” Jinhwan says, willing himself to not close his eyes so he can watch how easily Chanwoo’s hand covers his entire length, wrist twisting sharply again and again, “please please _please_ —” and then he’s straining against Chanwoo’s mouth, making small, aborted gasps, tugging sharply at his hair to still him. Chanwoo doesn’t move, doesn’t shift, only swallows around Jinhwan’s cock as easily as he does anything else and Jinhwan loosens entirely, his hands falling away from Chanwoo’s hair to run through his own as he tries to catch his breath, eyes falling shut.

He can barely remember where they are when he feels the hands on his hips shift to tuck him in. When he opens his eyes again, Chanwoo’s standing up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning down at Jinhwan like they’re sharing an inside joke. And maybe they are; Jinhwan flattens his hand over Chanwoo’s chest and Chanwoo covers it with his own, tipping forward to kiss Jinhwan on the cheek.

“Told you three minutes,” Chanwoo mumbles into his ear, quiet and teasing all at once. Jinhwan’s stomach flips, his fingers curling loosely against Chanwoo’s chest. He realises, abruptly, that Chanwoo’s heart is hammering.

“That _wasn’t_ three minutes,” Jinhwan whines, still breathless. “ _Way_ longer.” He pushes Chanwoo back because he suddenly wants to see his face, wants to see if there’s something different there. But the corner of his mouth is still quirked up, amused, and Jinhwan thinks _what the hell am I going to do with you?_ as he leans up to kiss Chanwoo’s dimple. “Next time, it’s _your_ turn.”

“Playing hooky on the job, hyung?” Chanwoo asks, although he sounds dangerously interested as he slides one hand into Jinhwan’s back pocket, and the fingers of the other between Jinhwan’s own. “And you call _Junhoe_ a bad influence.”

  

—

 

**Author's Note:**

> art by [gerti](http://twitter.com/ikonout).


End file.
